


Hot Copper Mistake

by flinchflower



Series: The 50kinkyways [14]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bloodplay, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-30
Updated: 2011-08-30
Packaged: 2017-10-23 05:50:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 13: Blood Play.  An accident reveals a hell of a kink for the boys</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Copper Mistake

**Author's Note:**

> I borrowed the characters originally so I could use them as a writing exercise, to see how close I could get the characterization. Then I was corrupted by porn. And kink. Here’s a side of kink. This is simply for practice, not publication or profit. I’m in the hole by about 30 grand, if you’d like to seize my debt as punishment. AU in that I refuse to admit the death of John Winchester.

Dean tries to handle it alone, miscalculates. He’s been struggling against the ropes for a while, hearing sirens, a ruckus up at the main house. It’s an hour or two after he’d heard the last car, when Sam bursts through the doors to the rickety barn. Dean looks up.

“Took you long enough,” Dean says.

Sam stalks up to his brother, stands in front of him, piercing gaze assessing Dean for injuries, noting the lack of t-shirt under Dean's jacket, absently wondering where it might be.

“Shit, Sam, we gotta get out of here.”

“Oh, no hurries, Dean.”

“What the fuck- no hurry? The police-“

“Yeah. The police? Have the criminals in custody just like they’re supposed to. Homeowner asked for us to make double sure there wasn’t a haunting here and split. We’re out in the middle of nowhere, in a barn miles from any building, and I’m going to kill you myself, with my bare hands. WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?”

Dean flinches. Quite a flashback to John Winchester yelling at him, the vein in Sam’s forehead even throbbing the same way. He winces again as Sam runs experienced hands over him, checking for injuries. Sam snorts. The only thing wrong with his brother is the shiner he’s gonna have from being knocked out, and assorted rope burns. Sam grabs a double handful of Dean’s jacket, yanking the older man to him so they are nose to nose. He holds Dean’s eyes for a long moment, shakes his head pressing a hot, desperate kiss onto Dean’s mouth. The sound Dean makes in reply as his tongue slips out to play with Sam’s is quite interesting. Sam’s suddenly hard as a rock.

“Untie me, bro,” Dean says huskily, and Sam backs off.

“I don’t think so,” he murmurs, eyeing Dean’s obviously erect cock.

“Hey, Sam, we can go back to the hotel-“

“I said I don’t think so,” Sam repeats, tone commanding. Has Dean flinched? “Remember? I’m gonna kill you. I should start,” he suggests, “with castrating you, so you’ll quit with the alpha male crap, because it’s getting old, Dean.”

“Aw, Sammy…” Dean tries a little wheedling and pleading out on Sam, feeling nervous.

“I think you have a lesson to learn here, Dean.”

“Fuck that, Sam, I-“ He gulps. Sam pulls out a big fucking knife out of the back of his jacket, and approaches with it.

“Problems?”

“Sam, Sam, what are you doing-“ To his embarrassment, the last word emerges as a squeak, as Sam trails the knife down his thigh. “Christo,” he squeaks again.

Sam laughs. “Oh no, no demon here, just one pissed off brother.”

“Come on, Sam, be reasonable.”

“You want out of these ropes or not?”

Sam takes his sweet time about it. They’d gotten fucking lucky this time, an acquaintance of Sam’s happens to be on the local police force. His friend had shaken his hand as he shut the door on the third of the would-be extortionists, who had been doing an excellent job of faking a haunting at the farmhouse. Sam asked for the favor of being left alone to see if he could scare some sense into his brother, and the officer had readily agreed, since they were finished with the scene.

He slips the knife under the ropes around Dean’s ankles. He knows, watching Dean flex, that his brother’s circulation hasn’t quite returned, and he runs deceptively gentle hands along the stiff muscles, massaging the feeling back in. Sam’s hands move higher and higher, indulge in trailing along Dean’s dick for a few moments, ignoring the fact that his own strains at the confines of his bluejeans.

Another long kiss, and a few nibbles on Dean’s neck and he slips the knife through the bindings on Dean’s arms and wrists. The massage is a little harder, more direct, still, his brother avoids admitting to pain. Dean’s free hands come up to cradle the back of Sam’s head as they kiss, but he shakes Dean’s hands off, roughly shoves him backwards. Dean squirms on the prickly hay.

“Get the rest of the ropes, Sam – I wanna feel you.” He reachs to undo his pants.

“I don’t think so,” Sam says. “You can take care of yourself, because Dad’s on his way – I called him.”

“Shit,” moans Dean, then yelps in pain as Sam roughly cuts the ropes from his chest. He twists at the wrong moment, wanting the ropes off and Sam’s hands on him, and the blade of the knife slices into his chest – just a shallow cut, but messy nonetheless.

“God, Dean!” Sam tries to stay the blood welling up, looks at the crimson running through his hands, and he swallows hard. Dean’s eyes meet his, shocky and wide, Sam knows that his own aren’t much different. Dean’s flushed, breathing heavily.

Neither of them moves, watching the blood around Sam’s fingers. Then Dean pulls Sam in for what’s meant to be a reassuring sort of kiss – one that turns hot and needy within seconds. Sam breaks apart from him as Dean slides his hand down Sam’s ass. They both glance at the blood and then look at each other again.

Sam’s the next one to break the stillness. He brings his blood-stained fingers to his lips, and licks, long and sensual. The blood is hot copper, rich in his mouth, and Dean grabs him again, brings him into a passionate kiss and shoves, landing on top of his younger brother. His hands scrabble at Sam’s pants. Sam surges up to lick at the blood dripping down from Dean's chest, then shucks his jeans and reaches a hand wet with saliva back to slip a couple fingers into himself, fucks himself open for his brother.

Dean runs a palm along the bloody cut, squeezes to let it ooze more blood, and wraps bloody fingers around his cock, slicks it up with his own blood. He knocks Sam’s fingers out of the entrance he wants exclusive access to, and with a rush penetrates the moaning boy. The noises are the hottest fucking thing he’s ever heard, and until suddenly Sam cries his name, coming like a volcano. Dean barely lasts a minute longer. He collapses on top of his brother, sticky with sweat, come and blood.

It takes a few minutes to think again, and Dean raises himself up on his hands, narrowing his eyes at Sam.

“Is Dad really on his way here.” He knows Sam well enough to doubt.

Sam blushes. “Haven’t called yet.”

Dean thinks for a minute. “I don’t really want to deal with Dad on this one, Sam.”

“I don’t want to talk about our father right after we-“

Dean chuckles. “I’ll tell you what. You give me this one, Sam, and I’ll do the same for you next time you fuck up, so long as neither of us gets hurt.”

“What do you mean next time?”

Dean just laughs, drowns Sam’s protest in a kiss. There’ll be a next time, he knows. But if Sam lets Dad in on what went down today, Dad’ll be looking at the scar that cut’s gonna leave, and there isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that he wants to try and lie about that one, because he’s gonna be hard every time he spots that in a mirror for months. Years, maybe.

Sam relents. “One condition.”

“What.”

“You. Me. Motel. Shower. Sex. Now.”

“Done.”

After all, he’d finished the job early, and there’s plenty of time to play.


End file.
